


All The Times Before

by kelex



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:39:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: Crowley discovers that Aziraphale has been keeping a diary.





	All The Times Before

**Author's Note:**

> Ineffable Husbands Bingo, Kissing In the Rain (and in other places), touch of angst there near the end (it got away from me, but I got it back in the end) but it ends up happy.

**(nightmare kiss)**

Crowley bolted upright. The dream had been horrific; he had found Aziraphale’s discorporated body in the burnt remains of the bookshop. He could still feel the prickle of infernal flame dancing along his skin, and he brought his arms up to scrub it roughly. 

“Sssh.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, firm,  _ there. _ His hands came up and caught Crowley’s, keeping him from further excoriating his skin. “It was only a dream, my dear,” he murmured, and wasn’t in the least surprised when he felt Crowley’s arms loop around his chest. “I’m here, love.”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, breathing in the goddamn cologne that he always slapped on after a shower, feeling the warm, soft skin of a bare chest, the chafing of cotton striped pajama pants that he insisted on wearing. 

Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s chin with gentle fingers, stroking over his cheek. “Hush now, darling.” He pressed his lips against Crowley’s, kissing him softly and slowly, forcing Crowley to slow down, breathe easy, calm his heartbeat. When Crowley’s hand slipped to the back of Aziraphale’s neck, he knew that things were better.

**(desperate kiss)**

He’d been gone for a month. He’d left because he’d gotten intel that Hell was rumbling again, and he wasn’t going to have anything happen anywhere near his angel. And so Crowley had abandoned London for a month, and dug himself in outside a deserted village in the Sudan. Thirty days of sand, sun, and not a peep from Heaven or Hell. 

So he’d returned to London posthaste, and within an hour of his return, Aziraphale had nearly tackled him to the floor in relief. “Oh thank Heaven,” he’d breathed, and before he’d done any explaining at all, he’d engulfed Crowley in his arms, and then caught his face with both hands. “The next time you are going to leave,  _ you have got to tell me. _ ” He pressed a hard, demanding kiss on Crowley’s mouth, all but yanking him to his knees as Aziraphale himself collapsed. Questing fingers found Crowley’s hair, restlessly petting and stroking as if seeking reassurance, and Crowley broke away, catching Aziraphale’s hands and holding them together inside his own.

“What’s going on, angel?” Crowley demanded, lifting Aziraphale’s hands to breathe on them, because his fingers were panic-cold.

“Your flat is gone, the fire brigade claimed it was a gas leak, but Crowley, it was holy water they used on the fire, I could feel it from a block away.” Aziraphale’s words ran together even as his hands twisted inside Crowley’s cupped palms. “I could feel you, but you were so far away I thought they’d taken you. I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t find you.” 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale against his chest. “I’m sorry, angel. I should have said, I was frightened for you.”

**(surprise kisses)**

Aziraphale had forgotten the fact that most people were upset by a seven foot long snake snoozing on a couch. Or on a bookshelf. Crowley especially liked the bookshelves; they were high enough up that he could catch a snooze in the sun for months on end, and Aziraphale was quite happy to have Crowley where he could keep an eye on him. 

And then Aziraphale received a copy of a rather important book. Not one anyone else would have ever heard of, even if they’d been in the trade, but it was a book of astral mathematics that would complete a set and make a certain demon  _ very _ happy come Christmas. 

He’d gotten so entranced by what he was reading that he forgot… well, everything. The shop didn’t open for four days, which was not all that odd at all. The tea he’d made was far past cold and probably undrinkable at this point, but he closed the book and then suddenly realized that a rather large black snake was coiled around him, blinking yellow eyes at him and smiling, as much as a snake could smile. 

He tried to stretch and found Crowley’s coils hugging him tightly, keeping him pinned to the chair so that he could continue to nap in comfort. 

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed that cranky snake right on the mouth. Startled by that turn of events, Crowley went from snake to human, falling off Aziraphale’s lap in the process. “That wasn’t fair!”

**(kisses in the rain)**

Crowley and Aziraphale were walking in Soho. They often did, just for the fun of it. Crowley would park the Bentley somewhere out of the way, and they would walk side by side. Touching at the shoulders and the elbow, brushing constantly up against one another, discussing whatever seemed to enter the conversation. 

Today it was the quality of humanity to take a terrible situation and make it worse. And then it began to thunder. 

Rain quickly followed, and Aziraphale darted into the first awning-covered doorway that he could find. Crowley stood out on the sidewalk, letting the rain soak him through. Damp fabric stuck to him everywhere, rain ran through his hair and behind his glasses, and he was smiling as the stinging droplets cooled his warm skin. 

He was always warm, with hellfire in his veins. 

He held a hand out to Aziraphale, who tutted and refused to move, and Crowley stood there patiently until finally, rolling his eyes, the angel came out and joined him. 

Crowley pulled him in close, instantly wetting the front of Aziraphale’s clothes while the rain did the rest. Slick fingers cupped Aziraphale’s face, and Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s mouth down to his. “Stupid man, don’t you know when to come in out of the rain?” he muttered against it, and Crowley’s answering grin obviously meant that he didn’t. 

He kissed Aziraphale back, feeling the layers of clothing against Aziraphale’s skin get cooler. He sighed, pushing in a little bit closer, so that his body heat all but sizzled against the angel to help dry him out and warm him up. 

In the middle of the sidewalk they stood, and people milled around them with barely a glance. Other bodies jostled against them, and Crowley kept them upright when they were bounced around. Licking his lips brought the rain that tasted like Aziraphale onto his tongue and he licked a little drip from the angel’s chin. He laughed, just because he could, unsure of why the rain made him feel so free. 

Aziraphale was still fussing with his coat, and Crowley helped him out of it. He threw it over his arm, then linked wet hands with Aziraphale. His lips skimmed cool knuckles, and he tugged the angel back into the flow of pedestrians. “Back to the bookshop and we’ll get you warm and dry,” Crowley promised in the angel’s ear. 

**(discovery kisses)**

Crowley was shaking out Aziraphale’s coat before hanging it on the coat rack. He could dry it instantly, but the angel insisted on letting it drip dry.  _ Easier on the fabric, don’t you know? _

A small leather-covered notebook fell out of the jacket, and Crowley picked it up. “Oi, angel!”

Aziraphale appeared around the corner, kettle in one hand with both sleeves rolled up. He nearly dropped the kettle when he saw what Crowley was holding. “Where did you get that?”

“Fell out of your jacket.” Crowley had meant to just toss it to him, but that reaction told him it was worth exploring a bit. “What is it?” He opened the cover, and saw pages of Aziraphale’s familiar handwriting. 

“Anthony J. Crowley, you put that down this  _ moment! _ ” Aziraphale shouted, clearly red-faced as he tried to wrest the book from Crowley’s hands. 

Crowley simply held the book out of reach, until Aziraphale stomped on his foot, then yanked him down so they were face to face. “Angel!”

“Crowley, you give that back to me or so help me, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll put spikes on the bookshelves!” he sputtered, trying to think of a particularly motivating threat. That was the best he could come up with. 

Crowley oofed as he was yanked down, and he did the only thing he could do. He surprised Aziraphale with a kiss. Short and cautious, he thought that it might be the only thing that saved him from an angelic ass-kicking.

It did, but it also lost him the notebook. Aziraphale returned the kiss wholeheartedly, and when Crowley unthinkingly lowered his arms to wrap them around the angel’s shoulders, Aziraphale yanked it triumphantly back. “There, you see?” 

Crowley was stunned that he’d been played so easily. 

**(notebook without kisses)**

It wasn’t hard to find the notebook. Crowley paid attention to it, and saw Aziraphale slip it into his waistcoat pocket. He was determined now, and he watched for several days, plotting.

His opportunity came one day when he was snoozing in Aziraphale’s shop, coiled atop the sofa back. He’d scared off two customers that morning and Aziraphale had practically preened over him, and Crowley was feeling quite smug. So he’d slithered up onto the couch and draped himself over the back, and then later that afternoon, Aziraphale had sat on the couch beside him. 

So he’d laid his serpentine head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his scales ruffling slightly as he was petted idly. 

And when Aziraphale was petting, and not paying attention, Crowley’s tail slipped into the waistcoat pocket and flipped the notebook out. He caught it in his mouth and slithered quickly under the desk, where Aziraphale couldn’t reach him, and from there, up the spiral staircase that led to the upper level. He changed back quick as he could, book still caught between his teeth, and he sprinted for the oculus. 

He didn’t make it. Aziraphale caught him, and Crowley felt himself sailing down. He caught the staircase bannister with his hand, and slid down to the bottom, waving to the glaringly angry angel that was still on the upper level.

Flipping through the book, Crowley didn’t notice anything in the first few pages that would have warranted this kind of reaction. However, about eight or nine pages in, there was a blank section, and then a page that had been covered in illuminated scripts. Random letters had been illuminated, as if that was enough code to prevent the word from being read. 

Diary

For the briefest of moments, Crowley entertained the thought that he shouldn’t pry. And then he caught sight of his name on the very first page, and he had to find out. 

_ Tuesday. The nightmares are getting worse, I think. Crowley won’t ever speak of them, but it’s not hard to figure them out. Not the way he grabs on like he thinks he’s drowning, or I am. The kiss is desperate and hungry. I hate them for making him feel this way, for making him suffer. Perhaps if I keep him busy, he won’t dream when he sleeps.  _

_ Thursday. More nightmares.  _

_ Monday. Haven’t seen Crowley since the weekend. Do hope everything is fine.  _

_ Wednesday. Hasn’t returned my calls. Not his usual operation at all. I hate that bloody ansaphone.  _

_ Friday. Beginning to worry about my snake.  _

_ Saturday. The flat is gone, it’s nothing but smoke and holy water. I don’t know where he is. Crowley, please…  _

_ Sunday. Crowley? _

_ Monday. Can’t feel him close. He’s somewhere, I take comfort in that, but he’s very far away. I don’t know what that means, but I hope…  _

_ Tuesday. Can’t feel him close. Can’t feel him.  _

There was a long break in the dates, and Crowley recognized the month he’d spent hiding in Africa.

_ Friday. I’m going to bloody discorporate him. Thank Somebody he’s all right. If he does that to me again, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I couldn’t help kissing him like he was my light. I hope he doesn’t mind, but I don’t care if he does. He deserves it for what he put me through.  _

_ Wednesday. We had brioche and brandied pears. His treat. I think he’s still feeling badly for worrying me so. He almost never eats with me.  _

More daily entries, and Crowley flipped the pages quickly. 

_ Monday. Don’t think I’ve ever kissed a snake before. Don’t know that I’d kiss a snake again. Actually, I would if it were him. As it was, it worked. Fell off my lap, then I got to kiss everything better. _

More entries, and Crowley paused at the last one. 

_ Thursday. That demon doesn’t have the brains to come in out of a shower of rain. Not only that but he dragged me out into it. Wouldn’t ever tell him, but it felt like one of those moments in the films. The music crescendos as our hero and heroine, or in this case, our heroes, step towards each other into the rain. A swell of violin or flute perhaps, and the wet one draws the other one in, uncaring of the rain so long as they’re together. Never quite felt like I was in a movie before. But I’d definitely do it again. Just wouldn’t let him know how much I enjoyed it. I rather like it when he does things like that.  _

Crowley closed the book, and looked for Aziraphale. But he had left the shop; Crowley could feel the change in the air and for once, he wondered if he’d made a mistake that he couldn’t fix. 

**(apology kisses)**

Crowley waited two days for Aziraphale to return. He thought about waiting in the Bentley, or coil up on the desk and wait, but no, he waited in his human body. He tidied the shop a bit, sweeping and dusting and watering what few plants Aziraphale had agreed to bring in. 

Aziraphale had refused to let Crowley bully the plants, but they were still growing quite well, perhaps remembering their planting and the vicious threats whispered into their soil as the demon had rooted them carefully.

He was sitting, not in Aziraphale’s chair but on the floor, back against one of the bookcases. An old Wagner record played on the gramophone, and Crowley was sipping at a bottle of red wine from the restaurant down the way. If Aziraphale didn’t come back soon, Crowley was going to go and look for him. 

He was saved from having to do that by the rattle of a key in the door. Peeking around the shelf, Crowley saw a familiar pair of legs clad in beige come in, heard the door’s bell ring, and then the click of the locks being thrown. 

Aziraphale was damp, but not wet. It had rained but not hard, and he’d stayed under an awning for most of it. He knew Crowley was there, of course, but did not acknowledge anything other than a feeling of hurt. 

When Aziraphale came to turn off the music, Crowley got to his feet. “Angel, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are.” He lifted the needle calmly and slipped the disc back into the proper sleeve before putting it away. “I notice you tidied things up a bit.”

“Didn’t touch your books.” He held the leather notebook out, and then laid it on the corner of the gramophone’s table. “I drank some of your wine, but not the good stuff.” 

“You know I don’t mind.” Aziraphale picked up the notebook and pocketed it. “I think I’d like to get into something dry. And then I’d like to be alone.” 

“Of course.” Crowley sobered himself up fast, and put the full bottle down by the bookshelf. It’s not like bars would serve you if you were already drunk. “Call you tomorrow?”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale kept his back to Crowley the entire time, and didn’t turn around until the bell rang over the door. Once he was alone, he released his grip on the gramophone table and collapsed onto the overstuffed chair that he called his own. 

He pulled the leather notebook out, flipping through the pages. To his surprise, there were pages of Crowley’s writing after his own had petered out. 

_ Thursday. Think I crossed a line tonight. Don’t know if there’s coming back from it. Thought I was just teasing him, but turns out I’m actually just a bastard. Don’t think anyone is surprised by that.  _

_ Thursday, again. What the devil am I doing? _

_ Friday, barely. I see why he does this, now. Even if you can’t talk to someone, getting it out is a good thing. ...remind me to tear these pages out later.  _

_ Friday, afternoon. I’m not just a bastard. I am. But I’m not. Come home, angel.  _

_ Friday, again. I am a bastard. I just wanted to know what he was writing about me. Why didn’t I stop? I just wanted to know… I’m sorry, angel.  _

_ Friday, night. If he doesn’t come back by morning, I’m going after him. I can’t imagine the kind of trouble he’s going to get into, and I can’t have anything happen to him. I have to know he’s all right. I’ve always looked out for him, but I’ve never protected him. Not from me, not from what knowing me does to a person.  _

_ Friday. I’m sorry, Aziraphale. Please come back. _

One page had been torn out, but it had been written with such a heavy hand, there were still indentations of pen strokes on the next page. 

Digging through his desk, Aziraphale came back with a dull pencil, and rubbed it lightly over the blank page. 

_ Stupid angel, I love you. I’m sorry. That’s the door, then. Please let that be you. _

Aziraphale closed the notebook. He wondered if Crowley thought he’d gotten all the pages, and wondered when he’d realize the mistake. Or if he would. Tucking the notebook back into his waistcoat, Aziraphale climbed the staircase to the second floor, and then down the hallway that led to the small flat over the shop. 

It felt oddly cold and dark, because Crowley had not come back up there. No lights were on; Aziraphale had long since noticed that like any other reptile, Crowley liked the heat that came with lights. There was no sign of another presence, and Aziraphale felt lonely. 

But he hung his coat on a hanger, and draped his waistcoat over a chair back. His braces got neatly folded and tucked away, his trousers draped over the dressing table. His pants and his vest got dropped into a laundry hamper, and he methodically dressed in something dry and warm--flannel pajamas, tops and bottoms, with a pair of tan slippers to finish the look. 

_ Pajamas, angel? Really? What’s the point of wearing clothes to bed, anyway? _

_ I think they’re quite nice. They’re warm and they’re comfortable. _

_ They’re in the way, Aziraphale. There’s a reason people sleep naked, and it’s usually because clothes get in the way of having sex. _

_ We’re going to be having sex? _

_ Of course. _

Crowley had treated it like a foregone conclusion, and Aziraphale had been startled. He knew that Crowley loved him; of course he knew it. What was the Austen line… oh, yes.  _ Every day implied, but never spoken.  _ It had just never occurred to him that Crowley had wanted him  _ physically _ as well. 

Couldn’t believe that he would be enough for Crowley, and had kept a record. So that when the demon finally caught up with the rest of the world, Aziraphale would have something to remember it by. 

Realized about twelve seconds after he’d started the diary just how idiotic he was being, but kept it anyway. He knew Crowley would never tire of him, just as he knew he’d never tire of Crowley. Kept the diary anyway because it felt nice to at least write out the things Crowley would never allow him to say out loud. 

Aziraphale was jarred out of his thoughts by the phone in the shop ringing, and he didn’t pick up the extension. Crowley had bought him an answering machine, after all, and had taught him how to use it. 

He could hear a voice, knew it was Crowley’s, still didn’t pick up. Instead, he waited for silence to reign again, and then padded his way downstairs to hit play on the machine, by the blinking red light. 

_ Aziraphale. Gone on to bed, I hope. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong. It was your privacy and I took that away from you. I wouldn’t blame you if you kept the door locked. _ A horn honked in the background.  _ Bastard, stay in your lane! Anyway. I’m sorry. About all of it. Going to cut me off soo-- _ The message ended. 

Aziraphale pressed save, and the red light stopped blinking. 

He looked outside the door, saw Crowley sitting on the curb in front of the store. Almost didn’t open the door. 

Snapped his fingers, and the bell jingled loudly. 

Crowley turned at that, letting the scotch bottle he’d just drained roll down the sidewalk and land in the gutter. “I was going to say that I’m sorry, about all of it. I was a prat, and I just want you to know, I’m going to try and earn it back. Your trust, I mean.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head, inviting Crowley in without words. Once he crossed the threshold, the angel steadied Crowley with a hand on his arm. “You’re drunk, and you won’t remember a word of this in the morning.”

“Yes, I’m drunk. But I’ll remember it.” His hands were shaking as he brought them up, and brushed a trembling thumb over Aziraphale’s cheekbone. Then he dropped his hand and looked down, realizing he probably didn’t have the right. 

Which was true. He didn’t. But in the moment, Aziraphale didn’t care. He was lonely. He’d spent more than enough time alone, both in the last two days and in the previous six thousand years. “Listen to me. I’m angry. I have every right to be angry, and I appreciate the fact that you seem to understand that. But.” He looked down, too, and picked up Crowley’s hand, flattening their palms together. “I’m tired of being alone, Crowley. Aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” Crowley’s head jerked in a convulsive nod of agreement. “Yes, I am.” 

“Then come up to bed already, and we’ll talk about this in the morning.” Aziraphale turned and linked his fingers through Crowley’s, pulling him behind. 

Crowley didn’t hesitate to follow; Aziraphale was in charge right now and he was willing to do anything that the angel needed. He stayed behind Aziraphale until they entered the flat, and he stopped at the couch.

Tried to stop, until Aziraphale kept pulling him forward. “I said bed, and I meant it.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. “Angel?”

“Come to bed, and sleep it off.” He let go of Crowley at the bedroom door, because he wasn’t going to force it. “Unless you don’t--” He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Crowley stumbled through the door and collapsed onto the bed, dragging Aziraphale with him. 

Crowley’s arms wrapped around his angel’s waist and he curled against Aziraphale’s back. He hid his face in the back of Aziraphale’s shoulder, but he stayed tucked in as close as he could, so that they were practically in the same skin. 

Aziraphale brought Crowley’s hands up and pressed feather-light kisses to each long finger, then to the back of his hands. Then he unclasped them and kissed each palm. 

Crowley let out a heaving breath slowly, tickling the collar of Aziraphale’s pajama top. He muttered something that was lost in Aziraphale’s skin, because all he could feel was the hot trail of lips as Crowley formed words that had no sound. They devolved into soft, gentle kisses that were as sad as they were tentative. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale loosened the demon’s grip enough to turn so that they were facing one another. “You must understand something.” 

“Anything.” He’d left his sunglasses… probably at the bar, or maybe in the car, and his eyes were almost all yellow irises and black slits as he listened to Aziraphale speak. 

“The fact that you’ve upset me does not mean that I don’t love you,” he said softly. “I’ve been upset with you before, and believe me, I don’t believe this will be the last time. But it will not change how I feel about you.” 

Crowley’s grip spasmed tightly on Aziraphale’s arms, but he wasn’t able to force words out. All he could do was lean in and press a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth. 

And he accepted it. His hands came up into Crowley’s hair to hold him still, because he tried to pull away after the first tentative brush of lips. He swallowed the surprised little noise that Crowley uttered, and he threw one of his legs over Crowley’s, keeping him positioned exactly perfectly. 

A lot of things were said in those traded kisses.  _ I’m sorry, _ and  _ I know, I forgive you. _ _ I love you, _ and  _ I love you, too. _ _ Please accept me even though I’m not perfect, _ and  _ I knew you were not perfect before I loved you.  _ None of those things needed actual words to be understood, not when kisses could speak so eloquently.

The End


End file.
